For Your Pride
by rii no ame
Summary: Senbonzakura and Byakuya are inconceivable to everyone except each other.
1. Disgrace

A/N: **Spoilers **for the Zanpakuto filler arc! Beware.

I am in love with Senbonzakura. And Byakuya has always been my favorite Bleach character since forever. I already love them as a pairing and this fic is based off the first episode (240) in which Senbonzakura's (bishie) face makes an appearance. I kind of riffed on that, and since that arc is ongoing, it's entirely likely Senbonzakura is waaaaay OOC, or will be shown to be OOC as time goes by. Oh well. I couldn't resist, anyway. I'll definitely write more on these two as more is revealed throughout the arc, and when I know more, well, they will be more IC.

* * *

Disgrace.

_Disgrace_. He stood, flushed with shame, trembling slightly with battle adrenaline and sheer shock. He touched his exposed skin with gloved fingers, then lowered his hand, schooled his expression to hide the dismay he knew was apparent. Such humiliation, to allow this—this _child—_to land a blow on him in such a fashion. Senbonzakura vowed to himself that he would make that insolent fool pay a heavy price for the small satisfaction of cracking his mask.

Because he _was _an insolent fool. Nothing more. The zanpakuto still retained bitter memories of his first hard clash with Kurosaki Ichigo, the way he'd been mocked by the very sight of that rogue zanpakuto, the way Byakuya-sama had counted on him, _depended _on him to defend the very law of Soul Society. And he had failed. The failure gnawed at him, at his pride, at his very nature. No matter that Kurosaki Ichigo then, as now, had fallen back on his dependence of that abominable mask. Senbonzakura would not tolerate failure. His wielder would not tolerate it in him, either, as he had never tolerated it in himself.

They both understood pride, very well. And Senbonzakura knew, better than anyone, that the pride Byakuya-sama fought for was hardly ever his own. All for her. All for Sode no Shirayuki's wielder (and _damn _Sode no Shirayuki for being so easily led, for turning on the one who mastered her). Senbonzakura knew this, and so he contented himself to fight for Byakuya-sama's pride, instead. He liked to hope—and indeed, felt so deeply, in the moments when they spoke together in that quiet communion of shinigami and zanpakuto—that to a degree, _he_ was Byakuya-sama's pride, as well.

And that was why, when his master halted his arm—halted him from striking down that insolent impudent self-assured arrogant undeserving _bastard_—Senbonzakura relented. He would have acquiesced to no other. But Byakuya-sama had earned his submission. Only Byakuya-sama could ever be worthy of it. The rest of them, all of them, they were beneath him. Dust under his feet, nothing more. And as they departed and Kurosaki Ichigo and his stupefied face vanished from view, Senbonzakura lifted his hand to his face once more to touch the exposed skin. The touch nearly burned and he trembled with the indignity of it. "I _will_ avenge this slight to my pride," he breathed, to himself more than anyone else. _To your honor. To mine. To ours. _

Byakuya turned. Senbonzakura anticipated stern rebuke, or, worse, indifferent disregard, but he received neither. Instead, he was gratified to find that Byakuya's expression had softened, his slate eyes searching the similar steely, half-revealed glance of his zanpakuto. It was an expression the zanpakuto knew well, one his master seldom wore in the presence of anyone else, but Muramasa's back was turned and so maybe—maybe—

"Yes," Byakuya said, quietly, and reached out with one small, elegant hand to trace the barely-exposed cheekbone, the closed delicate eyelid under his thumb. This touch did not burn, but warmed, instead, and when Senbonzakura opened his eyes he found that they were quite close, simply regarding each other, intimately familiar and yet…at the same time, not so. Byakuya's eyes were warm, warm in the way they had been in so many days past—relentless days in his earliest youth of seeking each other out, and then, once having discovered each other, of learning and growing and stretching and blending and fulfilling. That first, glorious moment of release in battle, and the later joy and pride and _wonder _in Byakuya-sama's eyes as he had mastered hakuteiken. Senbonzakura remembered.

Senbonzakura longed for that communion again. _You are beautiful_, he thought, and then, _we are beautiful together, you and I. _The war and events with Aizen and now the zanpakuto rebellion had cut into their time for learning more of each other, for simply growing closer, but he knew that it would come again. Byakuya-sama was devoted to knowing him, and he, devoted to knowing his master in return. Master. Indeed, hardly that. His submission was willing and chosen. A gift, not a power demanded. Senbonzakura lifted his head a little higher, stared with absent disregard at Muramasa's back. _That_ man, the one who walked alone, meant nothing. The one beside him meant…._everything_. And so for now he would wait and bide his time and obey, until he could return to what he most desired.

Byakuya stepped away, to fulfill the rest of his carefully-laid plans; Senbonzakura, lost in his contemplation, remained still for a moment. Byakuya half-turned his head, gifted his zanpakuto with a heavy-lidded, languid glance (and this gaze made Senbonzakura laugh quietly to himself, for _his_ Byakuya-sama was not always so regal nor so languid, was sometimes competitive and easily-aggravated and amused and mussed and _wonderful_). "Come," Byakuya said. "Senbonzakura."

And how many times had he heard his name spoken in just those tones?

_Chire, Senbonzakura_.

It still sent a sweet chill through him, made him weak with the anticipation of release in every sense. Senbonzakura came to himself and quickly followed, barely gracing Muramasa with a look as he accompanied the small graceful figure before him. Together. Always together.

It was right.


	2. Mask

A/N**: Spoilers** for the entire Zanpakuto filler arc. This installment is based loosely around the events of episode 241, and operates on the assumption that Byakuya and Senbonzakura are in cahoots. To me, this makes perfect sense; I think they're probably the only two who can understand each other, so they're confusing the shinigami _and _the other zanpakuto. That said, the inspiration for this piece in particular came from the conversation between Bya and Sen at the end of the episode. Sen tells Bya that Bya should have a mask like his (and Byakuya keeps asking, "Naze? Naze? Naze?"…lol). But given that Sen seems to display a _lot_ more emotion than Byakuya does, I keep interpreting him as that part of Byakuya who _does _feel and _does_ hurt but has to hide it behind a mask of pride and position. And I keep thinking that somehow, in some way, Sen functions as Bya's outlet—he's what Bya can't always allow himself to be.

I'm going to write more chapters to this, and I additionally _really _want to write some more explicitly romantic standalone fic for them; but I _need _to see Sen's whole face, and that may not happen for another episode or so (fingers crossed, anyway) so it may be a while (or not, who knows. Lightning may strike. And masks are sexy. Also, am I the only one with a fetish for haori-less Byakuya?).

* * *

Senbonzakura did not understand why he could not move from this place. He crouched on the cold stone floor, holding the broken shards of Sode no Shirayuki, and he trembled. Why? He had asked for this, he had asked it of Byakuya-sama, no less. And Byakuya-sama had answered his request: purely, efficiently, and unequivocally. Without hesitation. Was this not a gift above all gifts? _Byakuya-sama, you have given me what I asked of you_. _You have bent your will to mine, as I will always bend mine to yours. _Then why this pain? The deed had been necessary and it had been done, but why, why did it hurt like this? Should he not feel pleasure, instead? He thought he should—and yet he gripped the shards tighter, so he could feel the broken edges through his gloves. Pain outside to balance the pain within.

When he finally put the grief away enough to stand and turn calmly, as would befit Byakuya-sama's expectations, he found himself sickened by the sight of his wielder amongst the rest of the zanpakuto. For a moment he despised them, all of them: half of them, he judged, were idiots, the other half crude and inelegant and lacking in finesse. The sight of Byakuya-sama in their midst was discordant. It made him feel ill. Byakuya-sama had always been a slight man in stature compared to some of his peers, but among the zanpakuto he looked even smaller, younger and somehow even more elegant. And...somehow, with his haori abandoned, more fragile, too. Pale and silent, he transcended them all, but here he was nevertheless, debased to their level. Senbonzakura ached, and not only for the loss of Sode no Shirayuki. _Byakuya-sama_, _do not profane yourself by associating with them. You have no peer. _But he had his commands, and so he said nothing and persisted in his role, relieved that the mask hid the expression on his face until the rest of the zanpakuto finally exited, still buzzing with disbelief, Muramasa with them.

The exodus left the zanpakuto and his wielder alone, together, in the crude cave. Senbonzakura did not know what to say, but fortunately silence held weight with his wielder and he did not feel burdened to speak. Byakuya-sama stood alone and small, smaller still in the newly-empty vastness, head angled forward and his eyes half-closed. Raven hair parted at the back of his neck to reveal pale skin. A particularly vulnerable spot, Senbonzakura thought. Sode no Shirayuki's remains still clutched in his hands, he tentatively took a few steps over to his wielder, whose resolution surprised him even now. To his surprise, Byakuya glanced at him, lifted his head, and reached out with two small hands: an economy of motion, fluid grace. Senbonzakura's breath caught as slender fingers calmly traced the frozen grimace of the mask he wore. When they moved to the edges of the mask, brushed against the jawline concealed beneath, he stiffened. But he would not pull away. _Byakuya-sama. I am yours to wield_. And when the fingers curled around the edges of the mask and gave a gentle, easy tug, he did not flinch or waver, but stood proudly before that commanding gaze.

Slate eyes explored Senbonzakura's features—so exquisite and alive compared to the snarling visage of his mask—with marveling curiosity and no little wonder. The sight of Byakuya-sama so fascinated made a smile tug at the zanpakuto's lips. His wielder had always been fiercely proud of him, had always seemed to treasure those moments of quiet intimacy—when they stood face to face, when the zanpakuto shattered at his command, when the soft caress of a single bladed petal nestled in his palm. Sorrow and loneliness haunted Byakuya's opaque gaze now, but Senbonzakura still felt the intense ache of deep-held pride that he was worthy of _this _man, that this man was worthy of _him_. The pride was short-lived; Byakuya-sama's fingers traced the faint line of tearstains previously hidden behind the mask. Shame flared inside Senbonzakura, and he made to pull away, but Byakuya-sama's hand stilled him. "Senbonzakura." The heir of the Kuchiki clan bent his head forward, slightly, in entreaty. "I apologize for causing you pain."

Senbonzakura glanced away, and to the side. "I should feel not pain, but pride," he said, quietly. "Your victory was well earned. And Sode no Shirayuki was never bound to me in any way, only to—" And his mind flashed to Kuchiki Rukia. Senbonzakura's hand clenched around the broken zanpakuto, and he looked back up to the impassive face before him, the well-schooled mask that the world knew as Kuchiki Byakuya. Senbonzakura, though, knew better than to believe that face. It was no less a mask than his own, he _knew_ this. Because only he had passed the lonely nights of Hisana's illness by his wielder's side, listening to that dry ragged cough, and only he recorded the number of tears that fell silently onto the pillows of Byakuya-sama's bed as her life faded away. He had kept count too of the endless nights Byakuya-sama paced silently, those eyes dark with anguish over Rukia's impending execution. Senbonzakura knew Byakuya-sama's mask better than his own, and as he stood now—as he _looked_ beyond his wielder's calm gaze, fully and truly comprehended the pain that still made his own eyes burn—as he held Rukia's beautiful Sode no Shirayuki, part of her very soul, shattered in his hands by the brother who wished most to protect her—

_Not only my pain, but his. _The realization was staggering. Byakuya-sama was alone, away from familiar faces, friends and family, with his family name slanderously linked to whispers of betrayal. He had no one to turn to for comfort or reassurance, and that small slender body—prized, pampered, valued—had been crowded into association with a rogue's gallery of crude rebels. His own hands had slain his beloved, adopted sister's zanpakuto. And now… "Byakuya-sama," Senbonzakura whispered, and gave the only gift he could: after setting Sode no Shirayuki's remains aside, he stretched forward and mirrored Byakuya-sama's gesture, placing his two small hands over the much-adored countenance. With his own face exposed, he masked his wielder's so that Byakuya-sama might be allowed to feel his pain and hurt without shame. _I will cover you. _After a moment, and a fine, barely-noticeable tremor that reverberated through Byakuya-sama's slim frame, Senbonzakura moved a hand away from his wielder's face and carefully removed the kenseikan woven into sleek raven hair. He set the prized object aside with the shards of Sode no Shirayuki, and with the other hand he cupped the back of the dark head and urged it to his shoulder.

For a long time in the dim cave, there was silence. Sode no Shirayuki glinted dimly at Senbonzakura's feet, and the zanpakuto simply stood, holding his wielder's head to his shoulder in a still tableau. Then, into the silence: a harsh exhalation, the heavy breath of an almost-sob. Senbonzakura had heard that sound only once before, a muted expression of anguish when Hisana-sama's sad eyes closed for the last time. His hand tightened in the raven hair, and his own head bowed, warm breath fluttering over Byakuya's ear. "I apologize," he whispered, "for causing you pain, Byakuya-sama." _For asking this of you, as necessary as it was and will be. _And he decided, then, that he would always mask the anguished countenance of the only one in the world worthy of seeing his face. That he would bear the pain that he had caused in Byakuya-sama, and share the pain that he had borne in turn on Byakuya-sama's behalf. That he would keep count of the tears, the sighs, the white-knuckled fingers clutching at the blankets of an empty bed.

_No one else will know, Byakuya-sama. I am your sword; I will be your mask._

It was a vow.


	3. Cinders and Rain

A/N: **Spoilers** for the entire zanpakuto filler arc (and some areas of Byakuya's character history).

I cheated. I wasn't going to post a chapter this week, since I've been writing them concurrently with (and loosely based on) the episodes and this week's episode is all about everyone-else's zans. But I really like the routine and the groove I've gotten into, and I _miss _Sen and Bya when I'm not writing them, so I decided to do this: it's a chapter based on the later events from ep. 241—particularly, the Sen/Zabimaru fight and the Ren/Bya fight. I thought it might be interesting not only to explore the dynamics of the fight itself (because I just imagine Sen having this _immense disdain_ for everything that is not Byakuya) but also to explore Sen's feelings about having to witness Byakuya fighting separately-but-alongside-him. If nothing else, this offered me a chance to delve more deeply into their past with each other and their characterization. (The passages in italics, obviously, are Senbonzakura's memories/thoughts.)

Gratuitous romantical goodness will undoubtedly be on the way in upcoming chapters but I want to see Sen's whole face first. Call me crazy.

Apparently, someone needs to start a Haori-Less Byakuya Fetish Fanclub, because a lot of you seem to be in the same boat as me.

Also – to those who review (and to whom I haven't responded, or responded yet) – thanks so much for the encouragement and enthusiasm. I so hope everyone enjoys reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.

The title of this chapter actually comes from the Bat For Lashes song I was listening to when I was writing it: "Daniel." The thought of being consumed by the flame in the heart of someone who loves you, or of trying to get back to home the way it's portrayed in the song, hit home for me as I was writing this chapter.

* * *

Senbonzakura _hated _Zabimaru.

The zanpakuto was as ungainly and awkward as its wielder could sometimes be, seemingly too large for its immediate surroundings; in bankai, it wrought wholesale destruction on everything around it. The sheer unchecked brutality of that giant writhing snake and the general lack of finesse was an insult to everything about battle, an insult to Senbonzakura's very nature. Accordingly, the masked zanpakuto found it worthy of contempt. What pride was there in winning a battle by simply blindly leveling everything around you? True power belonged to those who could win a battle with a minimalist grace, poise, and precision.

And besides. The frighteningly androgynous chimp-woman and that insolent serpent boy had been audacious enough to challenge Byakuya-sama. _Again_. Senbonzakura had crushed them once already. _Do you never learn_? he wondered. _I will carve your foolishness into your skin, into your very bones. Beneath Byakuya-sama, beneath me, you are nothing. _For him, this was a distinctly personal matter. As much as Senbonzakura loathed Kurosaki Ichigo, he understood that the substitute shinigami held no particular fealty to Byakuya-sama—his defiance, then, could be chalked up to sheer stupidity, not insolence. But Abarai? Abarai-_fukutaichou_? Abarai-fukutaichou and his loud, arrogant zanpakuto?

Senbonzakura meant to teach them in blood the meaning of loyalty and devotion.

Admittedly, the fight could have gone better, and should have ended faster. It _would _have, only Senbonzakura found himself making the barest of pauses here and there, glancing over a shoulder or behind the giant serpent's head to see a familiar glimpse of black shihakusho, the gleam of the white kenseikan. All signs of the tender vulnerability just recently shared together in the underground cave had vanished; here, fighting Abarai Renji, Byakuya-sama was flawless. Senbonzakura felt a thrill, a flutter, watching the flash of the blade, feeling the sharp breeze from Byakuya-sama's shunpo. It made him remember…

_Years of practice. Byakuya-sama as a young boy, his raven hair swept up messily in a red band, his eyes wide and bright and hopeful. The sharp repetitive motions of practice with a wooden sword, his body memorizing the grooves that in battle would become a second tongue. His hopeful, creeping intensity, and the spirit that shone like a flame to Senbonzakura during those long days and nights of watching and waiting. Senbonzakura had only been able to visit him in dreams, then, and sometimes those only fuzzily. But he treasured those times. He would sit and watch that chest rise and fall with the calm breaths of sleep and memorize the features of the still slumbering face, of this one who would learn his name, who would know him. Sometimes, then, he would try to call out, but in dreams his voice was muted. He was not sad. He knew it would be soon. Byakuya-sama was devoted to discovering him.  
_

Senbonzakura hastened himself out of the way of that fanged, wide-open serpent's mouth. Behind him, he could hear the clash of blades as Abarai and Byakuya-sama flew apart only to collide again. And again. Feeling oddly alone, the zanpakuto refocused his attention and managed to push Zabimaru back a fair distance. Did Abarai's zanpakuto mind fighting apart from Abarai? Senbonzakura found it strange, to hear Byakuya-sama fight or see his elegant footwork, without fighting _beside _him, with him. As one. As they were meant to be.

_The first time Byakuya-sama understood his name: paradise. Senbonzakura had never felt so beloved or whole or known. He had never known it would sound so lovely, coming from those lips. And, though he had been concerned his devoted adoration was one-sided or not equally felt, the first "Chire, Senbonzakura," the first shikai, told him otherwise. Byakuya-sama's eyes narrowed in concern as his zanpakuto fragmented and shattered before his eyes, and then widened as he was surrounded by a flurrying whirl of those deadly, lovely petals. "Oh," Byakuya-sama had breathed, his eyes wide with wonder. He'd been trembling. Awed. "Senbonzakura, you are…exquisite."_

_And that had only been the beginning of wonder._

Tired of dithering, Senbonzakura summoned a not-insignificant amount of his power, and sent it hurtling forth to counter Zabimaru's charge. Perhaps the amount of force was a little unnecessary, but, suddenly, Senbonzakura wanted to finish it quickly. His memories were so cherished, so precious and beautiful, that this battle in contrast was ugly—and lonely—and the faster and more decisively it was over, the more pride to Byakuya-sama's name. And to his. _Yes, _Senbonzakura thought. _You are finished_. And he blasted Zabimaru out of his path for good and all.

Nearby, Byakuya-sama's battle was ending, as well. The masked zanpakuto turned to watch the uncommon display of beauty and strength. He found it gratifying that Byakuya-sama's loveliness, and his own, often beguiled enemies. That pale skin, those fathomless gray eyes, the delicate features, and the slim build: all those features belied lean musculature, a frightening cunning, cool detachment, and a will of steel. Senbonzakura smiled under the mask as Abarai Renji came tumbling out of the sky and landed on the ground with an embarrassing thud. _Well done, Byakuya-sama._

To his surprise, his wielder turned at battle's end, glance searching for his zanpakuto. Those slate eyes caught and snared Senbonzakura momentarily, then swept over the rest of the battlefield, a wreck of debris. Seeing Zabimaru absent, Byakuya-sama's gaze returned to his zanpakuto once more, softening. Sensing his wielder's pleasure and pride in the outcome, Senbonzakura straightened and held his head proudly. _I would not disgrace you, Byakuya-sama_.

Around them, it was night. The air was silent and still, and it should have been lovely—even despite the rasping of Abarai's breathing and the quiet sounds of anguish coming from Kuchiki Rukia—but Senbonzakura found that the sight only made him long for a night of a completely different sort. Why celebrate the sundry beauties of this world, when another held a far richer beauty and much more interest?

_Byakuya-sama's inner world was lovely. A rich, eternal velvet-soft darkness stained the skies, replete with stars, in indigo and lapis lazuli. There were fireflies, and the comforting sounds of nighttime insects. The faint breeze was always warm and soft. Senbonzakura liked it. He enjoyed walking there, exploring, opening himself up to the quiet beauty of it all. Sometimes he napped under the branches of low-hanging trees. Even when Hisana-sama died, and the colors had faded, and some of the proud trees had lost their leaves, he found it beautiful, and he tried in those stark days to tend it more carefully, to breathe life into the trembling buds, to will stars back into the empty sky. _

_It was best when Byakuya-sama came to meet him there. In the early days it was always with wonder, and they explored this new world, their new world, together. As time went by, and their mutual understanding grew, the meetings became even more special. They went on long walks, spoke of everything. And it was during these meetings that Senbonzakura had first let Byakuya-sama have the honor of removing his mask, for no other but him deserved it. Then, Byakuya-sama's eyes had widened as they had the first time he achieved shikai, and his eyes traced the features of his zanpakuto with reverence. His words were the same as they had been then, but they meant even more. "Senbonzakura," he had whispered. "You are exquisite."_

_He had been absent the longest when Hisana-sama was ill, and the little universe resonated with Senbonzakura's loneliness. When Byakuya-sama _had _met him there, at long last, his features were pale and drawn, and his gray eyes haunted in a way they had never been before. His hurt settled into Senbonzakura like a cold ache. For many, many meetings after that, the zanpakuto spent his time not walking or conversing with his wielder, but holding him in graceful arms in hopes that the embrace would warm away the chill of despair and remind Byakuya-sama that he would never be alone. _

_Gradually, after a long period of careful attentiveness and singleminded devotion, colors bled back into his universe, and the air became warm again. _

_Senbonzakura was happy._

_This was home._

The zanpakuto shivered as he was drawn again from his thoughts by the outside world. Abarai-fukutaichou and Kuchiki Rukia were babbling; Senbonzakura had ears for only one voice at the moment, and so he ignored it. But something in the air wasn't right. Before he could identify what it was, or alert Byakuya-sama, he felt the reiatsu of the other zanpakuto clustered thickly about him. Their tones were accusatory, their mood dangerous, and as they approached Abarai and Kuchiki Rukia they leveled taunts in Byakuya-sama's direction. The indignity of it made him tremble, and he might have killed them all had not more trouble shown up in the form of Soi Fong, her subordinates, and a handful of shinigami.

More fighting ahead. Senbonzakura found himself annoyed at the thought—these meaningless, trivial battles held little joy—but then he picked up on a particular reiatsu that spiked his rage immediately. _Kurosaki Ichigo_. In a flare of hostility and contempt, he tracked that reiatsu down and determined to himself that he _would _eliminate it. If he could not fight in unison with Byakuya-sama, then he would fight _for _Byakuya-sama. _And you_, he thought darkly to the insolent substitute shinigami, _you will be sorry you disgraced me – disgraced us. I will not allow this stain on our honor. _

With one more glance up at the night sky—so pale and uninteresting compared to the one he knew and loved the best—Senbonzakura determined that he would do his best to end this fight quickly.

The zanpakuto wanted—needed—to look into those depthless gray eyes and reassure himself of where and with whom he belonged.


	4. Understanding

A/N: **Spoilers** for the zanpakuto filler arc (and Bya's character history).

An update! Finally! I really didn't know if this chapter was going to happen; we've gotten very little Bya/Sen action in these past few episodes. *weeps* I keep waiting to see him unmasked, and it keeps _not _happening, and now Kenpachi's going to be getting in there, so…I guess we'll see.

This is based loosely—_loosely_—around episode 243. If you were paying attention to the ending theme, you saw cool, spoiler-y glimpses of Byakuya wearing Senbonzakura's mask. I have no idea what this portends, _but - _ seeing that, plus the "Will you wear my mask?" conversation between ByaSen in one of the previous episode previews, made me think it might be good to do a chapter based on why the mask is so important to Sen, and to SenBya both. Plus, I wanted a little ByaSen sweetness/subtle lovings. I can't help it.

The beginning and majority of the chapter is Byakuya's flashback; it's _not _in italics mainly because I find them difficult to read after a while when they're in overabundance.

* * *

"Will you wear it?"

Senbonzakura had always been fiercely proud of his mask.

Byakuya had always wondered why. From the moment he'd first seen his zanpakuto's face—those delicate, lovely features, the expressive eyes, the elegant beauty—he'd developed a preference for it, and found himself hoping with every visit that Senbonzakura would remove the rigidly carved, ferocious false grimace that hid his identity. But his zanpakuto did not often comply, and when Byakuya hesitantly expressed his desire to see his zanpakuto unmasked, Senbonzakura's question was always the same.

"Will _you_ wear it?"

Byakuya sometimes refused outright; more often, he avoided the question. As Senbonzakura's wielder, he could sense the shift in his zanpakuto's mood at the reply, the disappointment and fading eagerness. Sometimes, when he refused, Senbonzakura would go for long stretches without asking again—and, as if in punishment, during those long stretches he would keep his face hidden from his wielder who so craved to behold it.

After he had married Hisana, Byakuya had concerned himself less with the matter. On the whole he visited with Senbonzakura less anyway during those years; no longer so lonely, nor so cold, he brightened his own world with his wife's laughter and her smiles, as infrequent as they sometimes were. When he _did_ visit, both zanpakuto and wielder were so busy growing and evolving together, and training hard with one another, that the question simply never came up.

And then he lost her.

It had been a long time, a long time marked only by the empty rituals of mourning the dead and re-learning a life of solitude, before Byakuya had returned, and he'd found Senbonzakura waiting there, concerned. The visit had been long, and oddly comforting to both of them. At the end of it, Byakuya lifted his hand to that unmoving visage, and traced the sneering mouth with his fingertips. "Will you remove it?" he asked, quietly, and received a question in return.

"Will you wear it?"

Byakuya said nothing, for long moments. And then, because he had nothing to lose any more, because he was lonely and wanted to be close to Senbonzakura, to the one who knew him as no one else did or would during this whole terrible period, he said, "Yes."

Senbonzakura stilled. And then, in a burst of excitement: "Thank you—Byakuya-sama." His gloved hands pulled the mask away from his face, revealing the intense, expressive eyes and the delicate androgyny his wielder adored. At the moment his features were bright with eagerness. "Here," he breathed, and settled the mask carefully, reverently over Byakuya's eyes and nose and mouth. "Here…Byakuya-sama."

Byakuya could see surprisingly well through the material, which fit him unnervingly well. Of course, that shouldn't be such a surprise since he and his zanpakuto shared a good many similar traits, but Byakuya found the ease with which he could wear this disguise disturbing. His hand traced the outside contours of the mask that covered his face. How similar this was, he thought sadly, to daily life now: the way he schooled his features, composed his expressions, to hide all traces of the man within.

But Senbonzakura was not sad—in fact, far from it. The zanpakuto regarded him with wide eyes. "Byakuya-sama," he whispered. "You look lovely. You look strong."

Byakuya sat, holding the mask to his face. "Why?" he asked quietly, voice somewhat muted through the barrier that covered him. "Why do you want me to wear this?"

Senbonzakura seemed surprised by the question. His brows knit together, and his expression clouded; Byakuya always found himself amazed at how much feeling he could read in the eyes, in the features, of his zanpakuto; Senbonzakura was a thousand times more expressive than he could ever allow himself to be. "Because...because it is special to me, Byakuya-sama." Gloved fingers lovingly traced the mask on Byakuya's face. "It is a part of me, a part of me that comes from _you_. When I wear it, it hides me from everyone but you – because only you can truly know me, Byakuya-sama. And it shows that I am strong and unyielding…that _we_ are strong, Byakuya-sama. This mask is my reminder of who we are: warriors who belong only to each other. The moment you earned the only right to me, I began to wear this." Senbonzakura smiled. "I think it is beautiful. And I wanted you to wear it, Byakuya-sama, because it is the most special thing I have, and I wanted to know that you had touched it—that it was yours, too. Now, when I wear it, and when I fight—when _we_ fight—I can always think of you."

Staggered by his zanpakuto's obvious pride in him, in everything that the object meant, Byakuya removed the mask gently and replaced it on his zanpakuto's face. How much more would Senbonzakura teach him in all the long years they would have together? He had been a fool, a child, to mourn as though he were alone now in the world. He wasn't. "I thank you, Senbonzakura, for the privilege. You are correct; it is very special, and beautiful, too. Just as you are."

Senbonzakura knelt before him, head bowed. "Your words are too kind, Byakuya-sama."

And Byakuya felt as if he had suddenly and unintentionally uncovered a sacred truth—that there _was_ one in the world who would always know him intimately and completely, who would see him clearly through the facades that his life, his duty, and his pain forced him to wear. Who would remain devoted, regardless. The thought was staggering and oddly freeing, and in the wake of the dizzying revelation Byakuya found the courage to tilt his zanpakuto's masked face up to his own. Slightly flushed, and feeling awkward and hesitant in a way he had not since he was a boy, he brushed a light, soft kiss against the fixed snarl of that mask.

_I wish to honor everything you are._

He was not certain if such a gesture was…appropriate…with one's zanpakuto, or if any other shinigami had engaged in similar actions, but Byakuya told himself—clinging to faith in his newborn realizations from this visit—that Senbonzakura would, at the least, understand. And after all, he thought, more than a bit addled, it did not _matter _how other shinigami dealt with their zanpakuto, because Senbonzakura did not belong to anyone else, just as _he_ did not belong to anyone else. They were for each other and each other alone.

Senbonzakura was very still.

"Byakuya-sama," he breathed after a moment, and lifted his hand wonderingly to his mask. "I—" He removed the mask carefully, and Byakuya saw that he, too, was slightly flushed, his eyes wide and hopeful. Gently Senbonzakura placed the mask on the ground and came to his feet. A step, and then two, and Byakuya felt arms encircle him and hold him, tightly. "I will not fail to prove myself worthy of your affection," the zanpakuto whispered against Byakuya's raven hair.

Kuchiki Byakuya had spent so long schooling his responses that, now—after the long, long days of watching Hisana fade and locking his heart away for the sake of duty, position, and pride—he found he did not know how to respond to such a thing. His arms at his sides, body stiff and eyes widened in surprise, he finally gave a simple nod, and allowed himself to relax in the circle of that protective embrace. After a moment he wove his fingers cautiously through the silken strands of Senbonzakura's thick, dark hair, and allowed himself to simply _feel._

Senbonzakura, he knew, understood.

*****

With a sigh_, _Kuchiki Byakuya voluntarily left his recollections and glanced around at the chaos in every direction. All around him, shinigami fought with their zanpakuto. Buildings blazed and collapsed. Indeed, it seemed as though all of Seireitei was in shambles. At his feet, Rukia tried to help Renji to stand. Byakuya was aware of their accusatory glances, and the hurt in their eyes—the hurt in his sister's eyes, particularly—but he chose, for the moment, to dismiss it. For the time being, the only sight that interested him was the mesmerizing dip and swirl of petals in the air nearby.

Senbonzakura.

Byakuya took a moment to envy his zanpakuto's speed, the proficiency with which he directed those countless tiny, deadly blades. Though the Sixth Division captain knew he was nearly as fluent with Senbonzakura's abilities as Senbonzakura himself, to see his zanpakuto in action was…astounding. It reminded him of all that he had left to master.

_You are, as always, relentless grace._

Even Kurosaki Ichigo was having a tough time. The force of Senbonzakura's attacks kept pushing him farther and farther back and, in his frustration and anger, he was starting to slip and make mistakes. Byakuya found himself somewhat relieved by the decline in the substitute shinigami's fighting; he'd already promised himself that he would not hold back this time, if Kurosaki managed—however improbable it might be—to harm his zanpakuto.

"Nii-sama!" Rukia was hurt and furious; Byakuya could hear the pain in her tone, as tangible as the smoke in the air and the blood on the ground. Composing his features, he turned to walk away. He did not expect her, right now, to understand. He didn't expect _anyone_ to understand, for that matter: not Renji nor any of the shinigami engaged now in fights for their very lives.

And so, if they chose to view him as a traitor—_him_, Kuchiki Byakuya, whose zeal on behalf of Soul Society had been such that he had once advocated his own sister's execution—so be it. Byakuya decided that he would not waste time on regret or sorrow that those who should have known him best did not, in fact, know him well at all.

He and Senbonzakura understood each other, and that was enough.


	5. Wound

A/N: As always, **spoilers for the zanpakuto filler arc. **Huzzah! A new chapter! I know this one took a bit long in the updating, and there are a few reasons for that: 1) I was in the midst of finishing up Scar Tissue (my multi-chapter RenBya) and, well, I was gleaning the two past episodes for the little ByaSen bits. But now, here it is, and if this week's episode has anything of ByaSen interest, then I may update again before the week is out.

This chapter is loosely based around episodes 244-45, and focuses on two central concepts: naming and wounds. I noticed in this past episode that Senbonzakura refers to Byakuya as "Byakuya," which was a total _whoa _moment for me, because how intimate is that? I still like having Sen refer to Bya in this fic as Bya-sama, particularly because for Sen I think honor and respecting Bya are _important_, and I like imagining the name-by-itself as an inherently intimate act, maybe one that Sen falls into by accident when he's really emotionally engaged. And as for wounds, I kept thinking: sheesh, wouldn't it have _sucked _to be Sen while Gin was running Byakuya through on the Soukyoku? To be so helpless and unable to fight back? Hrm.

Also, I get a kick out of imagining Sen's reaction to Kenpachi; the way he _jumps _in front of Byakuya when Kenpachi looks at him. With all the KenBya stuff going on in the manga/anime lately, I have to think Sen's jealousy is picking up a bit, yes?

Flashback in italics, as always. I hope you enjoy it, and hopefully the next update won't be so long!

- Rii

* * *

Senbonzakura always felt a sweet thrill at the sound of his name: a name that existed to be spoken only by one other, the one who knew him best, cherished him most.

That was a zanpakuto's proudest moment, after all: to be_ known_, for one's wielder to speak the long-awaited appellation and trigger the union of shinigami and blade. Though he had heard his name spoken many times by now, Senbonzakura never tired of it, never tired of all the myriad ways Byakuya-sama's lips uttered the word in steely tones of conviction, pride, and adoration.

And so, when the zanpakuto found his fight with Kurosaki Ichigo violently interrupted by the sudden presence of that Eleventh Squad _barbarian_ with his demented, feral smile and his hulking, mammoth frame, his first response was not disgust, or even fear, but…

…pity. Pity for the zanpakuto that belonged to those brute hands.

He could not imagine the pain of such…anonymity. Though Senbonzakura was not given to much sympathetic feeling for anyone _but_ Byakuya-sama, he found that he ached for Zaraki's zanpakuto: a spirit denied the basic, fundamental recognition of its own identity. Denied the privilege of hearing its name spoken. Denied the bond for which Senbonzakura would have gladly given his life.

_What fool does not know the name of his own zanpakuto_?

_A powerful one_, Senbonzakura realized immediately, the thought of Ichigo momentarily forgotten in the face of this new problem. The sheer _reiatsu _emanating in waves from Zaraki Kenpachi was overwhelming, and the sight of the man himself was disturbing as always: that crazed glance, those arms rippling with muscles, the spiked hair and the small bells. Senbonzakura found himself relieved that his mask hid his utter distaste and disdain; Byakuya-sama would not have approved of such a show of emotion.

Though he really couldn't help his reaction. The man was astoundingly brute, crass and unfinished in nearly every aspect, the precise opposite of Byakuya-sama's elegance, grace, and minimalistic style. The very sight was worthy of mockery, and Senbonzakura duly scoffed at it.

But then, at the hands of that brute, crass shinigami, Wabisuke died. Quickly. Violently.

The sight gave Senbonzakura pause, kept him from immediately returning to his fight with Kurosaki. He had no pity, nor any feeling of deep companionship, for most of his fellow zanpakuto (though his heart ached still for the loss of Sode no Shirayuki), but to see one fall in such a manner was disturbing at best. Dislike it as he might, he could not deny Zaraki's obvious power, and he knew as much as his wielder did that arrogance—while acceptable if justified—could lead quickly to a painful death at the hands of seemingly lesser men. Frowning slightly beneath the snarling visage that hid his delicate features, Senbonzakura took a second, longer glance at the behemoth captain of the Eleventh Squad.

The reiatsu around the man pushed away weaker fighters and no small amount of debris, though Senbonzakura stood his ground against it. Even Kurosaki Ichigo seemed dumbfounded by the sight, nearly flattened by the impressive wall of energy. The zanpakuto's eyes noted the eyepatch that still restrained most of Zaraki's power, the grin on his face that was growing by the second, and the predatory gaze that was directed at—

_Byakuya-sama._

The zanpakuto moved with frightening speed to stand before his wielder, heart pounding in his chest at the realization of the sudden threat. _How dare you gaze upon him? He is not your prey here. _Should the fool not be occupied fighting the zanpakuto that were present? _I will deal with this threat, Byakuya-sama. _All thoughts of vengeance, of Kurosaki Ichigo, vanished in a tidal wave of clarity and determination. Senbonzakura determined to himself that _no one, _particularly not this crude, filthy excuse for a shinigami, would touch the only man to whom he offered his submission. _He is beneath you, Byakuya-sama. Even to gaze upon you is a privilege he should be denied._

"I will handle this, Byakuya." Senbonzakura spoke the words before he thought through them, and immediately winced internally. _Byakuya-sama_, he amended sheepishly. He so liked his wielder's name unadorned, cherished the privilege of speaking it—a privilege hardly any other had earned—but using such a name was such a deeply intimate act that it should belong to their private interactions. _Forgive me for making my feelings so public, Byakuya-sama, but I—_

He decided he would think about it later. With this particular barbarian, there was little time to waste, and that feral grin was sharpening by the second. Senbonzakura decided to end it quickly so that they could leave this place—so that he could, perhaps, _finally _have time to reflect in peace on all of this, time to speak alone with his wielder—

But before he could complete the attack, before he could so much as start it, he saw those large, calloused fingers reach up and easily snap off the eyepatch, that thin piece of fabric that acted as a barrier between the world and Zaraki Kenpachi's formidable reiatsu.

The wall of sheer energy that hit him _hurt_; Senbonzakura struggled to keep his ground. _Byakuya. _He couldn't see through all the debris flying, the bodies of shinigami and zanpakuto alike falling, struggling. _Byakuya. _ He reached up with one desperate hand to touch his mask, tried to draw strength from it. The energy pushed him back farther, and he tried desperately to stand against it. _Byakuya, I_—

With a cry, the zanpakuto lost his footing, and the golden light swallowed up everything.

*****

_"Ikorose, Shinsou__."_

_The pain following that command so casually spoken had been unlike any Senbonzakura had ever felt, or would ever feel again: the searing slice of blade through yielding skin and muscle._

_Byakuya-sama had been defenseless._

_Placing himself in front of his sister that day, he'd left himself open to the hit from Ichimaru Gin's zanpakuto. Though the act was deliberate on his wielder's part, Senbonzakura raged against it—raged and fought and struggled and cried _out_, desperately. He had never known helplessness, until then. Until he fell with his wielder, felt the shocking weakness and lethargy of a violent wound. And though the act was noble, though the sacrifice was the embodiment of Byakuya-sama's very nature, it was also contrary to Senbonzakura's own._ I exist to fight for you, with you. To protect you.

_In the end, he had been able to do nothing—he had been_ allowed _to do nothing—but bear silent, horrified witness while Kuchiki Byakuya fell before them all._

_Senbonzakura thirsted for the blood of Ichimaru Gin as deeply and as fervently as he desired anyone else's._

_And the days following that had been just as devastating, in their own way, for Senbonzakura felt the intricate knit of Byakuya's confusion, his pain, his regret, and his sorrow over the events of Soukyoku Hill as he recovered. The emotions leached into the zanpakuto's little world, deprived it of serenity, left the clear night skies cloudy and the peaceful breeze turbulent. Old hurts opened then that had remained closed since Hisana-sama died, and ached alongside the bodily wound that left his wielder confined to a bed._

_Byakuya had still come to meet with him faithfully, then, though his words were few, his exhaustion palpable. Senbonzakura, weakened himself from the ordeal, had been relieved to find that the wounds_ would _heal, and sometimes—as Byakuya rested with him, and simply enjoyed the quiet of their communion—he would let his hand come to linger over the site of that wound, press gently against the skin._

_Senbonzakura made promises to himself._

I will not leave you defenseless. I will protect you and those you love. I will fight with all of myself against any foe of your choosing. I will not allow this to happen again. I will not allow you to fall again.

_He had been hesitant to ask for a simple promise in return, though he had desired it with every fiber of his being_: promise me that you will never fall without your blade in your hand and my name on your tongue, Byakuya-sama.

*****

Cursing in a manner of which Byakuya-sama would have undoubtedly disapproved, Senbonzakura pushed aside rubble and debris and emerged from a pile of devastated ruins. No one was around; he lifted hands to his mask, relieved to find that it was still secure. _That Byakuya-sama's honor was still secure. _

From the distance, he could hear the clash of swords, and he knew, he _knew _it was Byakuya even before he could make out the scene clearly: his slender, graceful wielder and that barbarian, sparring in the distance. Senbonzakura frowned, but his worry lifted slightly as he noted—with some amusement—that the noble was hardly giving the affair his utmost effort. _He is biding his time. He, too, wishes to leave this place._

And Senbonzakura perhaps would have left it at that, would have attended to his own business, had there not been a roar and a mad laugh from that near-demon, and then—

—then—

_Blood._

A gash on Byakuya-sama's shoulder, superficial to be sure, but present nonetheless: a cut that dripped dark crimson down his pale arm and stained his shihakusho. Senbonzakura might have lost his head with rage at the sight, and indeed he nearly did as flashbacks of the events on Soukyoku Hill flashed through his mind.

But then he noticed something that gave him pause, that startled him: Byakuya-sama, he realized with surprise, was…_amused_. Or, if not amused, _enjoying _himself in the way that he did during fights that provoked his sense of pride, that challenged his singularity as a warrior and as a captain. His heavy-lidded eyes and his proud tone hid the attitude, but Senbonzakura recognized it from the fights he'd had in childhood with Shihouin Yoruichi: the desire to prove that he was, above and beyond, _better_ than his opponent.

_Byakuya-sama is _enjoying _this. _The revelation piqued Senbonzakura; it only made him want to kill the barbarian all the more. _That fool deserves none of Byakuya-sama's attention or effort. _ But it gave him pause, even as his hand tightened on his own blade and he found himself itching to join in, to _crush _this insolent idiot who had dared to wound the head of one of the Four Great Houses. _Should I intervene?_

He desired nothing more.

And yet… _Byakuya-sama's pride is at stake. _Senbonzakura did not wish to smear his wielder's honor by entering the battle, or by implying that Byakuya might need the aid. _Nothing of the sort. He's barely fighting that fool seriously. _Hesitantly, he loosened his grip, and decided to turn his attention to Kurosaki Ichigo again, with every intention to unleash his multitude of frustrations on the substitute shinigami in a flurry of bladed petals.

Fortunately, it wasn't to be.

Senbonzakura sensed Ashisogi Jizo's presence before the massive zanpakuto arrived, spewing poison in its wake; it gave him no little delight to _kick _Kurosaki Ichigo into that foggy cloud of spew. _Fool. _And when he turned, he found with delight that Byakuya-sama stood beside him, having departed his own fight with Zaraki under the curtain of poison.

Together they stood for a quiet moment, observing the scene: piles of rubble and collapsed buildings, the crumpled bodies of incapacitated shinigami, the hovering toxic fumes. Senbonzakura glanced at the cut on Byakuya-sama's shoulder, the drying blood, and wished suddenly that they were anywhere but here.

_When will this end, Byakuya-sama? _

But he did not ask the question, and though he wished it, he did not remove his mask and press his lips to that small wound in tribute. He simply turned, and began to walk away, aware of his wielder in step beside him, shunpo matching shunpo.

He felt as though he were back where he belonged.


End file.
